Melody

I toss and turn for most of the night, a bad feeling living in my gut. Things have felt off. My body is lethargic and my mind is foggy with confusion. As if there's a haze separating me from reality. A thin veil between my consciousness and the events occurring around me. A constant ache in my head that Advil can't fix. A weakness in my right arm. If my medical history was void of serious implications, I wouldn't worry about a persistent headache as much. But it's been bothering me for a week-and-a-half now. To where I don't think I can wait for my upcoming appointment.

Getting sick at Ella's place has provoked anxiety. It lingers in my gut like a nasty flu, and my emotions are at their tipping point. I'm on the verge of freaking out—no matter how sane I want to stay, for Kal's sake.

Speaking of Kal...

I look at him. He's sleeping beside me. One arm is hooked beneath the pillow. The other is thrown over my waist. He looks peaceful and young. His handsome face is lit by the illumination of my phone's screen. The last thing I want to do is wake him. In fact, it would be easy to sneak off and head to Emergency alone. But I promised Kal we're in this together.

Setting my phone down on the nightstand, I turn on the lamp. It casts a warm glow across our bedroom. Shadows line the cream-coloured walls and the coloured accents. The wall of Poloroid photos. A strange feeling coats my tongue and throat as I stare at them. I'm trying my hardest to be optimistic, but it's difficult. I'm scared those photos will soon be the only remnants of me left.

Expelling a shaky breath, I nudge Kal's shoulder. He stirs, muttering something incoherent.

"Kal," I say, giving his shoulder another shake. "Kal, wake up."

He opens his eyes, blinking against the soft light. "Yeah?"

It's difficult to find words. The proper words to say. I don't want to overwhelm him, but I also don't want to sugarcoat the truth. My body feels strange, and if these headaches, dizziness, and achy limbs are connected to my past battle with cancer, we can't take this with a grain of salt. We have to approach this like another battle—no matter how difficult it is for our mental health.

I clear my throat, but the words refuse to leave my tongue. They sit there, heavy and bitter. Emotions clog the back of my throat. If optimism is the shore, then the tide is sucking me out deeper and deeper into the ocean: I can't read it. All I can feel is impending doom while Kal and the rest of the people I love stand on the shore.

He props himself up on his elbow. With his free hand, he rubs his tired eyes. "Mel. What's going on?"

"We, um, need to go to the ER. Something feels... off. I don't think I can wait until my appointment. I—"

The rest of my sentence is hard for me to digest. Uncontrollable tears are sliding down my cheeks. Sobs wrack my body. Snot leaks from my nose. Our bedroom is freezing, as if someone has turned the heat off. Goose bumps pattern my skin and my head throbs.

Something's wrong. Something's wrong.

"Hey." Kal's voice is soft as he shifting into a sitting position and takes my face in his hands. His thumbs wipe away my tears, and I grip his wrists.

"I'm s-sorry."

"Shh," he coos. "Mel, you don't need to apologize." His face is stoic, but I can sense the uneasiness beneath. His hands are shaking. He won't tear his gaze away from my face. It's as if he's trying to memorize the features of my face. "We'll go to the ER. You know your body better than anyone else. If you feel like something's wrong, it's better to be too cautious than ignorant." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "Let's get ready and go.

"You have a game tomorrow." I frown. It's past midnight. "Today."

"I'll drink coffee before the game," he says. "This is more important. One shitty game won't make me lose my spot on the team."

I close my eyes, taking another deep breath. Staying optimistic is difficult when you're facing a disadvantage. Deep down, I know the diagnosis won't be good. There's a bad feeling in my gut, and my gut is always right. Plus, the onset of these symptoms was too fast. 

When I open my eyes again, Kal is still staring at me. His eyes glide over every inch of my face. His thumb continues to stroke my lower lip. He's trying to process this without breaking down. It's clear in the way he works his jaw and in the tenseness of his shoulders. As much as I want to stay positive and assure him things will be okay, I can't.

"What if that's not the case?" I whisper. My nose burns as I speak. I'm on the verge of bawling again. Being strong doesn't reduce the effects of trauma. Sitting in the hospital, enduring various treatments, feeling like crap, watching people around me feel helpless...

I bite my bottom lip, trying to control my emotions. There's something wrong with me. Even without a proper exam, I can feel it.

Kal presses his forehead to mine and squeezes his eyes shut. He's still gripping my face. "You'll be okay, Mel. You have to be. And if this is another battle, you know I'm here for you. I won't leave your side. Ever."

I press my forehead harder against his while taking deep, calming breaths. He's right. I have to be okay. Otherwise, our future will be forever suspended in limbo. Battles with recurrence never fare well.

Releasing Kal's wrists, I loop my arms around his torso and pull his body a little closer. He smells like soap and laundry detergent. There are millions of things I want to say to him, but my tongue, once again, will not work.

He kisses my cheek. "Everything'll be okay, Mel."

I stay neutral, despite his words holding the truth. No matter what happens, things will get better. Even if I'm no longer in the picture. I know Kal's strong enough to make it through this tragedy. We heal whether we want to or not. It's an inevitable concept related to time. As time passes and the days go on, so do our hearts. They continue to beat even when they feel broken.

I just wish I had more time.

* * *

Eight hours later, Kal and I are in a private room. We're waiting for the results of my CT scan, blood tests, MRI—the works. Kal made sure I went through every viable option. He wanted the results to be thorough.

Crossing my aims, I shift my position on the table. It's cushioned and covered with tissue paper. White tissue paper that matches the white walls and accents. Medical posters line the wall. The small window next to the small counter, storage, and sink system provides a pleasant view of the city in the distance. Through thin slivers of concrete infrastructure, I can see slivers of the ocean. It looks grey and melancholic today, just like the sky. Yet despite the dreadful vibes, my body longs for me to dip my toes in the water.

During my first battle with cancer, Kal and I were always taking trips to the Atlantic Ocean. We'd drive twelve hours from Montréal to Halifax just so we could sit at the water's edge and eat takeout while talking. There had been lots of hope in our conversations. Our discussions revolved around our future. How many kids we'd have. What our house would look like. When we'd get married. It was all dependent on Kal's schedule, but I didn't mind. Home is wherever he is. We could move to Greenland, and I'd still be happy. Cold, but happy.

Now, as we sit here in malignant silence, I can't help but worry. Our future is hanging by a fragile string. One word could destroy everything we've worked for. Everything I've worked for, because I can't discredit myself for fighting.

As if he can sense my worry, Kal sits next to me. His arm brushes against mine, and he takes my hand with both of his. The skin is calloused but warm, yet it does nothing to ease the tense silence between us.

Just as I'm about to break the silence, the door opens. A nurse, who looks close to our age, walks in with his head dipping down while he reads over his clipboard. His hair is trimmed close to his scalp. There's a prominent white scar across the edge of his jawbone. "Melody Johnston. The doctor will be in soon, but we'll need to fill out some paperwork and ask a few questions."

When he stops in front of us, he presses the clipboard to his chest and focuses on Kal and I. His spearmint-green scrubs bring out the lighter shades of green in his eyes. There are dark half-moons beneath them and his jawbone is scruffy, with a little more than the five o'clock shadow. All signs point to long shifts. I feel a pang of sympathy for him. Although I've been working in the ER for a few weeks now, I haven't seen him around. That being said, I've been lucky enough to have the day shifts.

I hold my hand out. "That's me. I'm a nurse here. I don't believe we've met, though."

Although his smile is as tired as his grip, his kindness seems genuine. "It's nice to meet you. My name is C— "

"Connor?"

Releasing my hand, we both look at Kal. There's a crease between his dark eyebrows. He's gnawing on his bottom lip. He's stuck in disbelief with a hint of resentment.

"Connor Watt?"

The nurse freezes, his hand tightening around the clipboard. His face is pale beneath the fluorescent lighting, and I swear regret is visible on his face. He looks familiar. And the name rings a bell...

The pieces click together like a jigsaw puzzle.

I raise my eyebrows. Then I look at Kal. "Connor Watt, as in Connor Watt that blackmailed Brenna and Shea? The one from high school? Holy fuck."

My gaze flicks back to Connor. He won't look in our direction. There's a light dusting of blush across his soft cheekbones, enhancing the freckles across the bridge of his nose. I look at Kal again.

"Are you serious?"

Pressing his lips together, Kal nods.

It's hard to believe Connor is a nurse, too. We've been working in the same building for three weeks, and my mind refuses to believe this is a coincidence. Life throws curveballs for a reason. Somewhere, whoever is pulling the strings of reality, someone's laughing. They think this is funny.

I have to disagree. When Shea and Kal get drunk enough, they lose control over their lips. Countless times, I've heard them talk about Connor and the hell he put them through. Connor made high school stressful because he was insecure and couldn't handle not standing on the podium. He abused all of them. All my friends. I wasn't there to experience everything, but I can be damn sure Connor doesn't feel successful.

"I want a different nurse," I say. The tissue paper rustles beneath me as I shift closer to Kal. He wraps a protective arm around my waist. "Actually, I'll fill the clipboard out. I'm a registered nurse. You're not needed here."

My voice is cruel, but all I can feel is anger directed at Connor. His actions united Brenna and Shea, but he harmed many people. People he never apologized to.

Connor opens his mouth. Closes it. Then he runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

Soon, the clipboard is in my hand and I'm filling out the paperwork. He loiters in the silence for several seconds.

Connor clears his throat. "For what it's worth, Jones, I'm sorry."

Kal snorts. "Not me you should apologize to, Watt. Don't use me to pass on something your ego can't handle. You abused Shea, Brenna, and half the hockey team. Abusers don't deserve happy endings. You decided to beat Jayden up. You continued to threaten Brenna and Shea." He looks around, noting the office and Connor's attire. "Props to you for becoming a nurse that tries to help people. But that doesn't change what you did. And until you apologize to them, your words mean shit."

"Jones..."

He loops his arm around my shoulders. It's an act of defiance. "Get out, Connor. Until you apologize to Brenna and Shea, you're dead to me. If that happens, then maybe I'll acknowledge your apology."

I scribble my BC health number onto the paper, willing myself to not look up. As mad as I am at Connor, my weakness is giving people second chances. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. There is a stark contrast between the level of maturity present in a person now compared to when they're in high school. Saying Connor has changed isn't too far from the truth. But any progress he's made means nothing because he still hasn't apologized to Shea and Brenna.

Still, my heart bleeds a little. Past mistakes, depending on the severity, shouldn't define your character now. But that's only viable if you're accountable for your actions. Suppressing a sigh, I shake my head. Sometimes, I'm too empathetic.

Connor clears his throat again. "You're right. I'll leave now."

With his shoulders hunched, Connor pushes through the door. On the other side, I can hear muffled voices. The doctor must be there.

Kal must think so, too, because he wraps his arms around my waist and presses a kiss to my cheek. "You'll be okay, Mel," he murmurs. "We've got this."

Seconds later, the door pushes open. An older lady, wearing a white blazer over her simple black shirt, steps through. Her hair is a peppery platinum blonde. There are lines on her face, showing signs of age around her eyes and mouth. Instead of carrying a clipboard, she carries a thick file. My name is printed on the tab in capital letters.

I shudder, recalling the previous events of my treatments. They were difficult to swallow, despite the optimism I had. I feel like I'm reliving the moment I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Yet... this is much worse. If I have cancer again, there's no recovering. This is too much for me to bear, but I have to keep myself together for Kal. And because I've met Dr. Blackburn several times already.

"Dr. Blackburn," I smile. "How are you?"

When her greyish-blue eyes meet mine, I have to look away. She can see right through my act. The false smile and the high pitch in my voice. She knows I'm worried. Scared.

"Melody," she says. She sets the folder down on the counter. "How are you feeling today?"

Her question is loaded. A truth and a lie sit on my tongue as I try to decide which one I'll voice. Telling her I'm terrified will worry Kal. Not telling her will reduce my personal concerns.

Kal glances between us, and then clears his throat. "Worried. We're both worried. I don't want to come across as rude, Dr. Blackburn, but can we cut to the chase? Small talk isn't helping the situation."

Dr. Blackburn sighs and nods. Turning her back to us, she pulls out a couple of charts. "Melody, Mr.—"

"Please," Kal interrupts. "Call me Kaleb. Mr. Jones is my father."

"Right. Melody and Kaleb. Part of my job is relaying both good and bad news to my patients. Being a doctor for thirty years, I can never properly relay the bad news. It..."

She pauses and clears her throat.

Kal takes my hand and squeezes it.

"Your tests came back, Melody, and there are signs of distant, or metastatic, recurrence." She looks down at her papers. "Lesions in the brain, lungs, and early signs in the liver. Your bones are clean, which is a good sign. But the diagnosis suggests it's aggressive. Your most recent check-up was in August. By the size of the lesions and how quickly it has spread, immediate action needs to be taken should you choose that route."

She hands Kaleb the papers. They're my blood test results and the CT scan results. He stares down at them, rubbing his jaw. 

The clipboard I'm holding falls from my hands. Tears pool in my eyes. My blood feels cold and my head is foggy.

Kal looks at me. "Mel."

His voice is a pained whisper, but it doesn't resonate in my mind.

That single word echoes in my mind.

Recurrence.

It's too soon. Kal and I are supposed to be married. I'm supposed to meet Brenna and Shea's baby. Help Ella find a man who treats her right. See Kal win the Stanley Cup. 

"How bad is it?" Kal asks. "What's the time? What are our options?"

The determination in Kal's voice breaks my heart. My ears are ringing. I feel dizzy. All of which are from his determination. He thinks there's a way to stop this. To keep me alive.

Brain, lungs, liver.

Treatment will only prolong the inevitable.

While Dr. Blackburn and Kal continue to discuss the stage and potential treatments, I stare at my reflection in the mirror across from us. My expression is volatile. Volatile for me. I look hopeless. Broken. I don't know if I'm ready to battle another round of cancer. If my body can handle the treatments again. Or watching Kal and my loved ones suffer.

It breaks me. Shatters every fibre of my being and leaves nothing but shards behind. I'm a broken disaster as the silent sobs shake my body.

"How long do I have?" I choke. "How many months?"

Kal loops his arm around my waist and rubs my lower back.

Dr. Blackburn's look is nothing shy of pity. "Six months."

"What about treatments?" Kal asks.

"Treatments will extend the time, but there is an inevitable outcome, Kaleb." Her pained expression intensifies. "I'm so sorry." She collects her folder. "I'll give you two a moment before we discuss our options."

Dr. Blackburn leaves without another word, and silence settles over us again.

My gaze finds Kal. He's staring out the window while he works his jaw. His posture is tense, but his hand is still gentle as he rubs my back.

I continue to watch his face. With every second that passes, I watch his stability crumble.

"Mel." His voice cracks as the emotions override him.

I throw my arms around him, pulling him close. He buries his face in my hair. I squeeze him tight, never wanting to let go.

"Kal."